


The Having of It

by TheConstantSidekick



Series: Team Free Will 3.0 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, CW can suck my dick, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Feel-good, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Light Angst, M/M, Mixtapes are gay as fuck, No Beta, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Schmoop, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), We Die Like Men, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, Weddings, s15e20 Carry On never happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheConstantSidekick/pseuds/TheConstantSidekick
Summary: After 11 years of pining, after too many apocalypses, too many monsters, too many times losing each other, and having defeated God with a capital 'G', they finally make it, through the sheer force of will. And this is the story of them making it.
Relationships: Castiel & Claire Novak, Castiel & Eileen Leahy, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Claire Novak & Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Claire Novak, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Series: Team Free Will 3.0 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153142
Comments: 83
Kudos: 53





	1. The Rain Song

**Author's Note:**

> For context, reading the previous works in the series will allow you to follow along much better as events from those works will be mentioned now and again. However, it is not strictly necessary, you should be able to piece it together in context.
> 
> And again, if you haven't consumed my content before; I am a scriptwriter by profession so this will be quite dialogue-heavy. You have been warned.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading.

“You know, when I went to tell Sam about… about how I was hopelessly in love with you,” Dean pauses, lets out a soft chuckle. “You know what he said to me?” He asks.

Cas who’s sitting next to him in the passenger seat flipping through a catalog of invites that all seem awfully similar to Dean, finally looks up expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“That the only people who didn’t know that we were in love, were the two of us,” Dean smiles. A younger, more brash Dean would have been angry for having lost all that time pining. Or maybe the younger, more brash Dean would have never even been able to come to terms with the fact that his affections for the ex-angel next to him were nowhere near as well hidden as he thought they were. A younger, more brash Dean probably would not have been able to admit that Cas is not only the man that he loves but the love of his life. But this is not a young and more brash Dean. So, he smiles. "I was pouring my heart out, man. I was scared, like scared shitless, right? And all he cared about was the fact that I thought he didn't know me well enough to already know."

“I’ve gotten similar responses as well. Even when we told everyone we were getting married, they all said something along the lines of how this was " _a long time coming",_ ” Cas scrunches his nose as he uses actual air quotes, and Dean will never admit it but that makes him fall just a little more in love with Cas.

But wait, that was a younger, more brash Dean, which he is not.

“Stop using those fucking air quotes, Cas,” Dean chides with absolutely no heat whatsoever.

“Why?”

“You’re making me fall more in love with you.”

“How is me being extremely loveable a bad thing?” There’s so much smugness in Cas’s voice, Dean has to smile again. “I mean, for you maybe.” He adds after a second, “I have you, how does Sam put it? Oh yeah, ‘whipped’,” again with the air quotes.

“Oh, fuck off, you smug bastard. Confessing to me was literally, and I mean _literally_ your moment of true happiness,” Dean says, looking away from the silent and empty road, jabbing at finger at Cas. “You sappy fuck.”

“Yes, it was, but you know what’s sappier? Looking for me, in Purgatory. Praying to me, without fail, every single night,” Cas closes the catalog in front of him, puts it in the back seat, and pulls one of his legs up so he can sit facing Dean completely.

“You don’t get to use that! Absolutely not, no. That was traumatic as fuck, okay?” Dean looks back at the road, arms flailing.

“Oh, and dying and getting taken to a place filled with nothing but your worst regret is a cakewalk then?” Cas rolls his eyes.

Dean sobers up. “That’s not what I meant, Cas. I’m sor-”

“I thought we were joking around Dean,” Cas cuts him off, caressing a gentle hand across Dean’s cheek. “I know what you meant.”

Dean still feels like utter shit.

“You can ask,” Cas says after a while.

The car remains silent for a moment.

Finally, “I don’t have anything to ask, sweetheart. Well… not about that. I just want to know; how can I help?” Dean asks.

Cas shifts closer towards Dean and slowly begins stroking his hair. Cas runs his callused palms made rough through years, millennia of fighting battles he rather hadn’t, across Dean’s scalp and Dean feels like, again, for what must be the hundredth time, he understands the sentiment ‘ _H_ _eaven is a place on Earth’._

“This helps,” Cas says softly. “You always help.”

“Cas…” Dean pleads.

And Cas, as per usual, never denies Dean anything.

“I don’t think I understand dreams. I had them the first time I became human, but only briefly. I never had the comfort I do now, so I didn’t often get the chance to sleep peacefully enough to have dreams,” Cas’s words are meant to be an explanation, and they hold no resentment whatsoever, but Dean’s guilt makes itself known regardless, and that too with the loudest, most gut-wrenching thud possible.

Cas, as if on cue, drops a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek. It’s a comforting touch that does more to say the Cas would never hold the tough decisions against Dean than probably any words ever could. He continues then, “But now, I have my guard down. I have a home and warmth and a very handsome man next to me every night I go to sleep, so I dream.” Cas sighs with great effort. Dean thinks he might need the pause, to either collect his thoughts or perhaps to look for courage, so Dean waits patiently.

“My dreams… I… I’m not quite sure how to explain this but the best I can do is to say that they remind me of being in The Empty. Dreams are such a fickle thing, they melt into each other, falling from one to another. I feel quite lost. The sensation is so new and the idea of visualizing scenarios and worlds I haven’t seen or lived somehow connects back to being in the slumber The Shadow put me under… It might begin as something beautiful and comforting, but more often than not it spirals into malicious and cruel,” Cas is looking in front now. Watching the rising sun illuminate the abandoned backroads that they both drive around so often, aimlessly. The aimlessness of it feels far more comforting than any aim would.

Dean takes a hand off the wheel and slips it into Cas’s free one. “I have them too. In our line of work… I think nightmares become like that creepy uncle at family get-togethers. You don’t want them there but well fuck, kinda part of the package, know what I mean?”

Cas nods.

So, Dean continues, “Honestly, I don’t think I have a solution. If I did, I would have used it myself. I still have nightmares about hell and the Mark, and Purgatory, and watching Sam die, about Chuck and… losing you.” Cas squeezed his hand once, an affirmation that he is going nowhere, not again. Dean soaks it up, imbued with resolution adds, “So I’ll give you this instead; I’ll be here. I might not be the best at words. I mean I’m fifty shades of emotionally constipated but I’ll always listen. _Always._ And if you wake up at the ass crack of dawn, upset and fucked up, and ask for a distraction, I will always be there to take you for a drive. I’ll do my best, Cas. I’ll give you whatever you want, but you gotta promise me one thing…”

“Anything” Cas’s statement is absolute.

“You gotta ask for what you want,” Dean looks at Cas, hoping his eyes convey that he’d bring Cas the stars if he ever asked for them.

But hoping that his eyes say it for him is something a younger, more brash Dean would do.

So, he exhales, gathers his guts up, and adds, “I’d give you the stars if you asked, sunshine. But you gotta ask.”

Cas’s face breaks into a grin that justifies the use of the nickname he used only moments ago. He kisses Dean, a soft chaste thing. Because they can do that now. The quickness of it indicates that they have all the time in the world and that makes Dean so very giddy.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I think I already have everything I will ever need,” Cas says easily and he sounds absolutely content in his proclamation.

Dean’s heart warms and he grins too.

Moments pass and both of them savor the monotony of watching the green fields pass them by.

“Oh!” Cas exclaims breaking the silence and shaking Dean.

“What the fuck, man?”

“This is why Crowley used to be so fucking jealous!”

Dean feels like words are alien things that he never learned to begin with.

Cas however, unfazed by Dean’s silence, continues, “He obviously had a thing for you. And obviously, I cannot blame him. Just like I don’t blame Benny. But I quite liked Benny. Crowley though…” Cas scowls.

Dean opens his mouth and then closes it. He repeats the action two more times and then squeals, “Crowley did not have a fucking crush on me!”

“Sure, it’s not like you guys had a Flickr album together or anything… oh wait.” And Cas smirks, the smug bastard.

“That was a fucking Demon Dean adventure thing, alright?”

“Oh okay.” Cas’s sarcasm game was always very strong but Sam’s company is making him lethal. Two words and he’s breaking Dean down.

“Well, what about Balthazar, huh?” Dean counters. “That smarmy British asshat was so smitten with you; he went to war.”

“Oh, oh! We’re talking about smarmy British asshats, are we? Might I remind you of a certain Arthur Ketch, then?”

“Oh my god, fuck off! Mick used to drool over you like you were a gift from God.”

“…technically he wasn’t wrong now, was he?”

Dean can’t help it. He gives in, “Fuck no, he wasn’t.”


	2. The Ocean

Sam has witnessed several confounding events occur in the bunker. He has watched Michael wreak havoc and he has witnessed his father manifest back from the dead. He has even observed and somewhat participated in a family therapy session between Lucifer and God, himself. But what he sees right now as he walks into the library in the middle of the day, leaves him beyond dumbfounded.

“Alright, on three. Not _after. On_ three, got it?” Dean asks, sounding frustrated.

“Yes, Dean. I am older than this planet, I think I am capable of understanding what it means to go _on_ three,” Cas retorts, sounding like he is two seconds away from smiting someone.

“Well then stop screwing it up, alright?” Dean snaps.

“Dean,” Cas warns.

“Alright, alright,” Dean throws his hands up in defense. “Best out of three, okay?”

Cas just nods.

Both men bring their hands forward, eyes brimming with fierce intent as if engaged in a battle of the ages.

“One, two, three,” Dean says.

Cas throws a rock and Dean throws a scissor. Sam almost snickers, because obviously, Dean threw scissors. But he is afraid to interrupt whatever is going on in front of him at least until he has some idea as to why this game of Ro-Sham-Bo seems like a life-or-death scenario.

Cas gives a small smile.

“It’s not over yet, buddy,” Dean sneers.

“Stop calling me that!” Cas says exasperated, throwing his arms up. “I don’t think you marry your ‘buddy’, Dean!” Cas uses those air quotes he likes so much and Dean smiles softly and steals a quick kiss.

“Okay, okay. It’s not over yet, sweetheart… better?”

Cas nods again. Dean keeps smiling.

“Okay, one, two, three,” Dean counts again.

This time Dean wins, throwing a paper to Cas’s rock. And punches the air in the excitement of his victory.

Cas just eyes Dean warily, “As you said; it’s not over yet, my love.”

Dean sober up instantly at the tone. Sam from where he stands at the door, can hear the intensity in Cas’s voice as well. He’s calling for war and promising a worthy battle.

Dean exhales slowly and counts again, “One, two, three.”

Sam feels the severity of this stupid rock, paper, scissors game is palpable enough for everything to move in slow motion. He watches as Dean throws paper again to Cas’s rock. He watches as Dean throws several punches in the air and exclaims in joy. He watches as Cas groan and pulls at his hair. He watches as Dean smiles with absolute joy and pulls Cas’s face into his hands give him a loud, obnoxious kiss right on the lips.

“Come on, sweetheart. You gotta be a little more gracious in your loss,” Dean looks very sly and absolutely not gracious in his own victory.

“Do shut up, Dean,” Cas chides, looking genuinely up.

Dean laughs. “Sammy!” He screams.

“Yeah?” Sam replies without thinking.

Both men are startled.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Dean asks, still alarmed.

“I had something to talk about. Thought I'd swing by. But then I walked in on this,” Sam says walking in and standing in front of the two men. “Why’d you call me?”

“I wasn’t calling you, dude. I was calling dibs.” Dean answers as if that explains anything.

When Sam’s face remains contorted in confusion, Cas adds, “We’re trying to decide wedding parties. Seeing as we share the same family, the process has been quite…”

“Vengeful,” Dean completes.

“So you Ro-Sham-Bo’d, who gets to call dibs first?” Sam asks, sitting down.

Cas and Dean follow his actions as they shrug.

“It was Cas’s idea. And I won!” Dean brags and Sam watches Cas’s face sour completely. “You are my first choice.”

Sam smiles.

“Eileen,” Cas cuts in.

“Asshole,” Dean throws back.

“You took my best friend,” Cas accuses with his finger pointing at Sam.

“He’s my brother!”

“Yeah, about that,” Sam cuts the in, knowing if the bickering begins, it will never end. “Ugh, the thing I wanted to talk to you about was that I was kinda hoping that maybe... I could officiate.”

Sam has always worshipped the ground that his brother had walked on. He looked up to Dean since he was four years old, and could barely tell up from down. What he knew then (as he does now) was that his elder brother was the absolute coolest and no one could compare. That was until he met Castiel. Now, Sam wouldn’t say Cas is cooler than Dean but he did give Dean a run for his money in Sam’s eyes. Cas was his nerdy, sassy, very painfully human best friend and the only person who could ever be worthy of his infallible elder brother. Essentially, to make a long story short; Sam didn’t want to have to choose between these two idiots who had made him suffer through so many years of palpable sexual tension and third-wheeling.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Sam,” Cas says beaming at him with a bright smile.

“Yeah dude, sounds fucking perfect,” Dean pats Sam on the shoulder. For a moment Sam thinks Dean’s eyes might be shining but his attention is distracted.

“Eileen!” Cas shouts.

“Wha-No! Come on! I had the first choice.” Dean protests.

“You already made your choice,” Cas points out.

“It doesn’t count anymore, he’s not even in the running!” Dean says frustrated.

Cas shrugs, “It’s your fault for choosing the wrong player.”

“Asshole,” Dean screams. He exhales, “Fine, I’m taking Jody.”

“Donna.”

“Garth,” Dean announces. “Even though he named his kids after the two of you,” He adds mumbling.

Cas and Sam snicker.

And then begins a staring contest. The room remains silent and Sam feels like the money he won for therapy couldn’t possibly be enough.

“Um, guys?” Sam tries to break the tension. “What’s happening?”

“We each need to pick a Best Man and... Jack and Claire are the only ones left,” Cas replies calmly.

“We were always going to end up here,” Dean says sombrely.

Cas nods in agreement, his expression hard.

Sam finally sees the severity of the dilemma. It is Cas’s turn. However, whoever he picks, will essentially be considered his favorite of the two. On top of that, he’d also lose the other. Suddenly Sam realizes. “You picked Garth on purpose,” Sam says slowly, as he struck with the scheme his brother had arranged. “So it would be on Cas to pick one of them, making him the bad guy if either of them is offended.”

Dean’s serious face breaks into a grin. “Maybe,” Dean shrugs.

Sam looks over at Cas waiting for him to blow up or at least look pissed, but he’s met with nothing but resignation. When Sam keeps staring at him, Cas finally sighs.

“I lost the game so he could go first and it would be on him to pick one of them,” Cas explains, “I didn’t take your offer into consideration and in my haste to get Eileen, I miscalculated.”

“Wait, what?” Dean sputters, “What do you mean you lost on purpose? I defeated you fair and square!”

“You stop using scissors when you actually _want_ to win, Dean,” Cas replies nonchalantly.

Well fuck, Sam didn’t know that. He thought he had been winning fair and square.

“Anyway, I hate this. I don’t wish to pick one. I love them both dearly.” Cas adds, running a hand over his face. And then burying his face into his hands.

“That’s what you get for scheming, you dirty schemer,” Dean retorts muttering.

“Maybe you could ask them?” Sam suggests. Cas looks up at him, expectantly. So, Sam continues, “Call Jack, call Claire, sit them down and ask them to pick either of you two. I mean you’ll find out exactly who likes who better, maybe it’ll hurt your ego… but it’s either that or hurt their feelings. So…”

“Bruised egos are easier to heal than guilty consciences,” Cas says decisively.

He picks up his phone and calls Claire asking her when she can swing by. By some miracle of God, she is passing by Lebanon in a couple of hours and agrees to stop by. Meanwhile, Dean sends out a prayer to Jack to meet them at the same time.

Two hours later they are all in the kitchen and Sam leans on the kitchen island and patiently watches Dean and Cas stand and fidget as both Jack and Claire sit opposite each other on the table giving each other questioning glances.

“Spit it out, Bert and Earnie,” Claire finally breaks the silence.

“We- Bert and Earnie?” Dean looks so offended Sam has to laugh, “At least make it a little sexy, we’re pretty fucking sexy. Why can’t we be Thelma and Louise?”

Claire’s face remains blank.

“You-You don’t know who they are, do you?” Dean runs a hand over his face, “God, I think Anakin had the right idea. These younglings-”

“We’re trying to decide who each of our Best Man should be,” Cas cuts Dean off, “So, both of you, if you would like to, who’d you pick?”

“What about Sam? Wouldn’t he be Dean’s Best Man?” Claire asks.

“I want to officiate. Like Cas did for me and Eileen,” Sam replies from the back.

Claire smiles, “Wear a collar. You’ll look stupid, it’ll be fun.”

“I can’t but I appreciate the thought.” Sam chides.

“You want us each to pick one out of the two of you?” Jack asks.

Cas and Dean nod.

“So that you don’t have to be the bad guys and pick favorites, right?”

Both Cas and Dean exchange a look and then look back at the kids and nod again.

Jack and Claire look at each other dead in the eyes, an animosity brimming between them. But then suddenly it’s gone. They lean in, whisper something to each other that none of the grown men can hear. Sam watches both Dean and Cas fidget some more, anxiously. At this point, he has to admit. He feels the same way.

And just as suddenly as the whispering began, it ends. They both nod at each other and get up.

Jack walks over to Cas and Claire to Dean. Both the kids look at both the men for a second and then go in for a hug. Both men look at each other over the kids' shoulders with soft smiles as they hug back, eyes glistening.

“You gotta save me dance though,” Claire says, not meeting anyone’s eyes and wearing a soft blush.

“Of course, Claire,” Cas replies earnestly.

“Can I get a dance too?” Jack asks excitedly looking at Dean.

“I let you drive my car, isn’t that enough?” Dean taunts.

Jack pouts giving Dean the kind of puppy dog face that would give Sam a run for his money.

“Fine. Fine. Yes. Sure. Whatever you want, kid,” Dean throws his hands up in surrender. Jack smiles and so does everyone else.

Sam has to take a moment to take it all in. They get to have this. And he feels incredibly lucky to be able to witness it.

“Dinner, anyone?” Sam asks.


	3. Bron-Yr-Aur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty fond of this one.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Are we also throwing the bachelor parties?” Claire asks calmly as she continues digging.

“Can we focus on the job at hand?” Cas screams from across the graveyard as he swings the crowbar and watches the ghost dissipate into nothing.

“I’m multi-tasking,” Claire objects. It’s a regular old salt and burn. Besides, she’s secretly excited about the prospect of Cas and Dean _finally_ getting married. As much as she loathes to admit it, even to herself, watching them happy and content is comforting in a way that can only make sense to someone who has watched their life be ripped apart by the evils that exist in this very fucked up world. And Claire knows this life doesn’t always provide you pleasures or moments of happiness, oh does she know. So maybe, just maybe, watching two of the unluckiest guys on the planet make nauseating heart eyes at each other gives her hope. Maybe.

“This really isn’t the sort of task you should be putting secondary to any other,” Cas chides, he sounds like a father exhausted with his incorrigible daughter, Claire thinks. The lack of any actual heat to the retort somewhat proves her belief.

And because she doesn’t know how to deal with that (absolutely not new) revelation, she says, “You’re such a fun guy. No wonder Dean wanted to put a ring on it.” She can practically hear Cas rolls his eyes, so she adds, “Careful! Don’t roll ‘em too hard, they’ll get stuck, and then how will you make heart eyes at you beau?”

She waits for a snarky reply but when none comes, she pauses her digging.

“Aziraphale? Did you die out there?” Claire asks but receives no reply again. “Cas?” She screams.

“Claire, get down!” Cas screams charging towards her, only to jump over and swing at the ghost just behind her.

The ghost of Principal Margorie Ward does not take too kindly to that and throws Cas a few feet away at a headstone. She manifests on top of him and begins to strangle him hissing slowly, “You’ve been a very naughty boy.”

“CAS!” Claire shouts.

Cas throws a handful of salt at the ghost and watches her disappear snarling. “Keep digging,” Cas’s voice comes broken, as he rubs a hand over his bruised neck. “And maybe, I don’t know, try not to "multi task",” Cas adds as he notices Principal Margorie appear a couple of steps ahead of him.

Before Claire begins digging in haste all she can think of is who the hell still uses air quotes.

“You could’ve easily answered the question by now; if you weren’t so busy being a wet blanket,” Claire retorts.

“I’m not being a wet blanket; I am just asking you to be careful while on a hunt. I do not believe that is a huge favor to ask,” Cas’s words are haphazard, Claire guesses he’s fighting the old bitch. “If you do intend to throw us bachelor parties, I’d prefer you did it alive. We’ve got enough ghosts for that wedding.”

“There’ll be fucking ghosts at the wedding?” Claire has to stop digging and look up at that.

“Just the one. If we can summon him,” Cas replies nonchalantly, “We’d like Kevin to be there. But that’s more than enough ghosts, in my opinion.”

“Fucking weirdos, all of you” Claire goes back to digging. She finally finds the coffin, yanks it open. She climbs out of the grave and pours salt and gasoline over the corpse. She’s covered in mud and very aware of Cas fighting the ghost behind her. “Why the hell was I the one digging, anyway? Shouldn’t you do the heavy lifting?”

The lack of response worries her, she turns back and witnesses Cas trying desperately to reach for his crowbar that is slightly too far out. When their eyes meet, he mouths, “Burn,” and Claire knows that logically she should focus on burning the remains but she also knows she just can’t deal with logic right now.

She runs over, grabs the crowbar off the ground, and swings it at the very dead Principal. Only to turn around and find her there, back with a vengeance. She pins Claire against a tree.

Claire begins gasping for air; she can’t breathe. She can see the crowbar on the ground in front of her but can’t even begin to think about reaching it. Her eyes are watering and her vision blurring. She clawing at her neck to no avail but even after all this, no part of her is afraid that these will be her last moments. No part of her is afraid that this is how she will die. Because there is no part of her that believes that, that can happen as long as Cas is around. And before she can do anything with this second (absolutely not new) revelation (like avoiding it), as if on cue, the ghost steps back and begins screaming as she burns wildly out of existence.

“No, I’m sure Sam’s gonna throw Dean’s and I’ve asked Eileen to throw mine,” Cas answers, wiping the mud off of Claire’s face with diligence and care. “Unless of course, you want to, then you’re very welcome to.”

Claire is breathing heavily, “Really? Now?”

Cas shrugs, “At least, I’m not multi-tasking with your life on the line.” He turns around and begins walking back to her Chevy Camaro.

And Claire has to smile at that. “You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” She taunts as she follows.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” Cas says getting into the passenger seat and drops the crowbar into the backseat. Claire follows suit and gets in the driver's seat.

She pulls out baby wipes from the glove box, pulls some out, and then passes the box to Cas, who does the same.

“I’m fine with not having to plan the whole thing, as long as I’m invited,” Claire says with some hesitance.

Cas stills, only for a second. And it’s that second that makes Claire understand that Cas knows her too well by now, because a second later he’s back to normal and asks, "You'd want to come to mine as well?"

Claire nods stiffly.

She notices Cas smile a little, “Eileen thought you would. She said she'd put you in charge of bringing an ungodly amount of glitter and a few other things that are too phallic for me to comfortably tell you about, so I’ll leave that to her.”

Claire nods again with a small smile of her own. She remembers resenting the man sitting next to her for the first time, as an Angel of the Lord. He was a force to be reckoned with, mind focused on a single purpose. To that immovable Angel, everything that was not that stood in the way of his mission was a hindrance to be done away with. She remembers thinking he was just another monster who took her family and broke it apart, falsely claiming that it was for a righteous cause that could never benefit her, because nothing that could orphan her could ever really be righteous, could it?

But then she met him again. He’d looked for her relentlessly, showed up prepared to take whatever spite, blame, and fury she threw at him, promising to only want to be there to help and nothing else. He looked so fucking different from the Angel she remembered that it took the breath out of her. He walked more loosely. He joked (or tried to). He made awkward faces. He smiled. He said kind words. He didn’t wear a tie.

“Phallic? Like what?” She asks.

Cas blushes. She realizes he’s changed even more now. “Like I said, I’m not comfortable talking about those things with you,” he says shyly.

“And why is that, Aziraphale?” Claire’s trying extremely hard to clean the mud off her chin.

“It seems inappropriate,” Cas replies. He hesitates before continuing but gathers a breath that seems to be more for courage than anything else, “I mean no offence when I say this and you are obviously allowed to resent me for carrying such a sentiment-allowed wouldn’t be the right word- B-but you are… allowed that is- more than-” He runs a hand over his face, frustration written all over it, “What I’m trying to say is that, as unfair and unjust as it sounds, I have begun to look at you… as my responsibility…No. Wait. ‘Responsibility’ makes it sound like you’re a burden somehow; that is definitely not the case. You’re… I mean- I-I hold you in very similar regard as I do Jack… If that makes sense.”

Claire knows for a fact that it is very, confoundingly rare to see Cas struggle with words.

“As your kid?” Claire asks plainly.

Cas opens his mouth and then closes it. He does it twice more. In the end, settles for a curt nod.

 _He’s afraid,_ Claire realizes belatedly. He’s afraid that Claire will resent him for thinking of her in such a way.

 _Idiot,_ she thinks.

“Does that mean the milkshakes and burgers are on you, from now on?” Claire asks with a smile. And she can feel the happiness radiate off of the passenger seat the moment the words leave her lips.

“From now to however long you'll let me,” Cas replies with such devotion Claire can’t help blush.

“For the love of Jack, please stop being so sappy Aziraphale,” Claire chides with barely any heat.

“Never,” Cas promises.

Claire smiles and starts the car. “Next time you’re doing the grave-digging bullshit. My legs are killing me.”

“And let you be the bait? Absolutely not,” Cas fights back.

“You’re really taking this whole Guardian Angel thing very seriously, aren’t you?” Claire asks, because raising yourself, do not emotionally stable adults make.

“Painstakingly seriously. You’ll go back to resenting me soon,” Cas says with a small smile, “Though I was a horrible Angel, so just Guardian works.”

“You can try your best,” Claire challenges. _‘But I’m not going to ever resent you again’_ goes unsaid.

They drive off smiling.


	4. All My Love

Jack is too young. He realizes he’s too young. Jack knows that in a way the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders and he is far too young for it. But Jack also understands that the world is an unreasonable and unbalanced place where fairness comes second to free will. Jack thinks maybe he knows that better than anyone else. He ought to; he is after all the closest thing to God in all of creation. What he does not understand is what the heck is going on as he walks into the kitchen at Sam and Eileen’s place.

“I'm not saying you can’t get married, Cas. I'm saying that none of it is going to be even remotely legal,” Sam sighs, and though Jack has just entered, seen just a few futile seconds of the conversation; he can feel the frustration in the air. He can almost taste it on the tip of his tongue.

“How does that even matter? It’s not like anything we do is legal,” Dean interjects offhandedly from the dinner table where he’s sitting with a beer in his hand, with Cas standing behind him, huffing in protest.

Cas runs a hand over his face while the other sits on his waist. Jack realizes that it’s Cas’s signature, ‘I’m so done with this’ pose. “That’s exactly my point, Dean. Everything we do, and everything we have ever done; all of it means nothing.”

Dean turns to look at Cas. Jack can’t see him but he knows Dean’s hurt. Not because he’s Godly but because he knows Dean. “Well Cas, tell us how you really feel.” The words come out of Dean’s mouth laced with spite.

“That’s- That is not what I meant. You know that.” Cas objects looking dejected.

Dean turns away trying to cover the hurt with another sip of his beer.

Cas looks back at Sam for assistance and is only met with a glare. Cas cowers. He slowly makes his way in front of Dean and gets on his knees. He holds Dean’s face in his hands as gently as possible, with so much care that even from afar Jack’s heart warms.

Their eyes finally lock and then, “I want this to be a new start for us. I want this marriage to be normal and legal and as true as possible. Everything we have ever done has been done in the shadows, hidden from the world. I don’t want this to be the same way. I want to have a relatively big celebration with all our friends and family. And I want everyone to know I am marrying the most kind, compassionate and beautiful man there has ever been. I want to show you off, anywhere and everywhere.” Cas’s voice is so soft Jack is sure Sam can’t hear any of it. The only reason he can, is because he's all-knowing. Yes, so, maybe he does sometimes use his powers to spy on people, sue him. Claire’s an idiot who’s just jealous that she can’t do it too.

“Why does it have to be such a big thing, Cas?” Dean asks softly, his hands are gripping onto the chair. Knuckles slowly turning white. “Why does it have to be such a big announcement? Why can’t it just be us, our makeshift broken little family? Are they not enough for you?” Dean’s volume rises slowly. “You want this big ass Greek fucking wedding, and you want the whole shebang with invites and receptions but- why the fuck does it need to be so fucking public? Why can’t it just be us?”

“Maybe I just want everyone to know I’m yours…” Cas says very softly. He shakes his head then and then drops his hands and gets up. “If you don’t want these things, we don’t need to have it, Dean.” He walks over to Sam who is standing behind the kitchen island. “We won’t have to make it a big deal. The invites haven’t gone out yet. It can just be us... if that’s what you want.”

“Cas, that’s not-…” Dean pleads.

Cas waves a dismissive hand, “No. I understand, Dean.” Cas pulls out a beer from the fridge, opens it, and takes a sip. “I got too carried away with what I wanted. I’m really sorry, my love. That wasn’t my intention. I just-”

Dean gets up and walks over, cutting Cas off, “No, sweetheart. Come on. That’s not-“ Dean runs a hand through his hair, breathes deeply and then adds, “I want this to be as true as possible, too. Okay? I do. So… we’ll find a way to make this big fat Greek wedding legal as fuck, alright?”

Cas looks hesitant but Jack’s getting impatient.

“So,” Jack says walking into the kitchen, finally visible. All three of his fathers jump in surprise and a bit of beer is spilled.

“Quit fucking doing that, kid! My cholesterol is already too damn high already. At least let me make it to 50,” Dean exclaims.

Jack smiles because knows exactly how wrong Dean is.

But Cas’s face scrunches up in dismay, “No. Aim higher, Dean. At least 80. We’ve only just started.”

“Sap,” Dean chides, but he is wearing a soft blush.

Sam cleans up the beer spilled by the other two men and faces Jack, “Hey buddy. What’s up? Didn’t think we were gonna see you today.”

Jack walks up to the three men, stands next to Dean, opposite to Sam and Cas. He cautiously looks around before he begins, “So, um. I might have overheard the conversation… A little. I know, I know. I’m sorry but it wasn’t intentional. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that maybe I have a solution.”

The room is silent for a second.

Sam breaks the silence, “You know how to make fake legal identities with social security numbers and all? Something that even _I_ don’t? You know, the guy who taught you how to hack?”

“No,” Jack replies calmly.

“Then?” Cas urges.

“Spill it, kid,” Dean says.

Jack takes another breath even though he’s not quite sure he needs it, “I might have already gotten them made. For all of you?”

The room goes silent again.

Jack begins to panic, “I know. I should’ve asked beforehand but, I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to get it done before Sam’s wedding but I got busy… with ‘God stuff’ and I don’t know… I thought maybe now… with this wedding and stuff. I mean obviously, you’re allowed to say no and of course, you can still use these identities regardless of your answer. But I hope you guys would not mind it… I mean… I think you won’t-“

“Buddy, buddy. Hold on. You’re not making any sense. You’re just rambling gibberish at this point,” Dean says, rubbing a calming hand over Jack’s shoulder. “Start from the top, how’d you get them made? I think the only one who could get it done was _our_ Charlie and…” Dean doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I know a guy,” Jack replies.

Sam and Cas simultaneously cock an eyebrow.

Well, better to spill, Jack supposes. “Um, technically, Jesse knows a guy. He had to get it done for himself and some of the kids that he works with at the Non-Profit, if they have abusive parents.”

“Jesse? As in…?” Sam asks.

“Jesse Turner,” Jack replies.

“The…” Cas asks.

“The Antichrist, yes,” Jack nods.

There is a moment of silence.

And then Dean breaks it, “Oooooh, our lil' Jackie boy’s got a boyfriend!” Dean exclaims, ecstatic. Jack blushes and he thinks, that is beyond ridiculous. He’s an all-powerful being. He should not be blushing at being teased about having a boyfriend by his Dad.

Cas glares at him and Dean looks back with pure innocence, “What?” He whines, “I’m just happy.”

Cas huffs. “We’ll circle back to that,” Cas says with determination, making it clear that he will indeed have that conversation at a later point with Jack. “Right now, I wanna know why you made fake legal identities for all three of from scratch.”

Jack is silent for a moment.

And another.

Another.

And then he pulls out a file from his jacket pocket and puts it on the table.

“I was hoping, maybe…. Maybe the three of you, would like to adopt me.” Jack answers, his voice cracking. “I mean, not all states will recognize all three of you as my parents but, some will. And I think I- I’d like that- Only if th-that’s okay with you guys, of course.” He gets no response so he continues, “I wanted to do this after the wedding but then Claire was telling me about Father-Son dances and… I- I don’t know… I just thought, it would be nice… To officially be able to do that, you know?” He pauses, “But again, obviously, only if that’s o-okay with you guys.”

The silence, Jack feels is deafening.

Until Dean pulls him into a fierce hug.

“Anything you want, son,” Dean whispers into Jack’s ear, before pulling away.

It’s only then he realizes, Dean’s crying. He turns to Cas and Sam, then and finds them rushing over for hugs and crying as well.

And eventually, Jack cries too.

He knows that he is too young, but he knows that the world is big and scary, and his mom told him that Castiel will take care of him and raise him. Castiel will give him a family and watch over him, his mom had promised and she was right. He’s young with the weight of the world on his shoulders but he isn’t even remotely afraid because he has his family with him, every step of the way, no matter what comes next.


	5. The Battle of Evermore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. My work schedule kinda went haywire and I couldn't write anything that made me happy. But I am pretty happy with this. Let me know what you think.

“Hey Cas, what’s up?” Sam says into his phone, trying his best to hide his exhaustion from ~~attempting~~ having to cook dinner.

“I don’t understand why there are so many different variations of the same shade of green,” Cas replies monotonously. Ironically, however, it was the monotony that worried Sam.

“Dude,” Sam chuckles, “you gotta give me a little more context.” Sam tried taking a bite out of the burger patty only to spit it out.

“You okay, Sam?” Cas asks upon hearing Sam’s conundrum.

“Yeah, man. Eileen’s on her way back from that Ghoul thing back in Texas? So I thought it’d be nice if I made dinner-“

“I think your definition of 'nice' might be quite askew. Otherwise eating your cooking would never be qualified as ‘nice.’”

“Good god, Cas. Didn’t think _you’d_ be the one turning into a freakin’ bridezilla.” Sam huffed.

Cas sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, Sam. That was misplaced. I think I’m…”

“Cas? You still there?” Sam asks when Cas doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes, Sam. I’m still here,” Cas replies a little resigned.

Sam dropped the fork and dishtowel on the table, walking over to the dining table, he takes a seat. “What’s up? You alright?”

“Well… To be very honest, I am not quite sure what I am? If that makes sense…” Cas says unnervingly unsure.

“You don’t understand what you’re feeling?” Sam asks carefully.

Sam thinks not everyone understands how much Cas has grown over the last year, ever since he became human. There were times now and again where Cas would lash out, especially in the beginning. Sam wasn’t always there when it happened but Cas would always tell him about it afterward. They developed an easy rapport where Cas would explain everything that happened and try to verbalize what made him crack while Sam would listen to his best friend and try to help him navigate it the best he could. Cas, much to Sam’s surprise was never shy about asking for help. Sam initially thought Cas would have too big of an ego, too used to being inhumanly powerful, to ask for assistance but that wasn’t the case. His heart always felt warm that Cas entrusted him with the task but always suspected there was another Winchester who might have played a hand in the whole thing. However, he was very unsure how.

“I think this is… stress? Or perhaps a mixture of that along with anxiety?” Cas ventures, “I think- I think, I feel like I am flying. Like I am about to land but I don’t really know what I will face when I get there. As Luke would say, _‘I have a bad feeling about this.'_ ”

Sam smiles, “Um, yeah. That’s what anxiety feels like, dude.”

“But I remember, when you and Dean went on that hunt with, what did Dean call them? Vamp-mimes?” Cas asks.

“Agh! Don’t remind me.” Sam groans.

“I was nervous then; I spoke harshly, I was jittery and my hands were shaking. I couldn’t completely calm down till Dean healed from getting impaled by a stupid rusty nail. You said _that_ was anxiety.” Cas sounds so confused.

“Well, there’s different kinds of anxieties. Anxiousness takes different forms for different situations. What’s happening right now?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Cas recites the line again.

“About what, Cas?”

“The wedding.”

There’s silence on both ends. Sam’s pretty sure he’s terrified but he has to ask.

So, he does, “You don't want to marry Dean?” Before the other man can answer, Sam adds hastily, “I swear I won’t be upset with you or anything. Right now, I’m _your_ friend and I’m just asking, without any judgment. So, you can just tell me, alright?”

Cas sighs again and Sam swears he can’t breathe.

“Remember when I drank alcohol for the first time?” Cas asks calmly. Too calmly.

“When you showed up off your rocker cause you realized God didn't give a shit?” Sam remembers vividly. Seeing Cas drunk back then felt like looking at a comet, rare and terrifyingly existential up close.

“Yeah. You remember what I said?” Cas asks again, too calmly.

“You said a lot of things, man… I don’t get it what does this have to do with what I asked before?” Sam doesn’t want to repeat his question, verbalizing it again would be a feat he’s unsure he wants to achieve.

“I told you to stop asking stupid questions, Sam. _Of course_ , I want to marry Dean!” Cas chides as if he’s stating a universal fact. Like he’s telling a junior in high school that the Earth is in fact, round. But the irritation in Cas’s voice makes Sam breathe easy again. “I’d have married that man the first time he stabbed me the night we met; if I knew he was amenable to it,” Cas mutters.

Sam chuckles in response, then adds, “Then what’s the bad feeling about?”

“I don’t think he wants to marry me.”

Sam’s chuckle is gone, “Why would you say that? He say that to you? I’m gonna kill him.” Sam’s already on his feet, looking for a shotgun.

“No. No. He didn’t say anything like that,” Cas replies quickly. At hearing that Sam sits back down. “It just feels like it. I can’t explain it. I mean you know better than anyone that I don’t quite understand how to navigate my emotions fully. I think I learned how to be human from Dean so this was quite inevitable, I suppose. But I have this feeling that Dean wants things to be different somehow. Maybe he doesn’t want me to make this a big deal, you know? He wants a quaint wedding but I’m forcing him into this huge event,” He adds.

It’s Sam’s turn to sigh now, “First of all, yeah. You probably learned how to be human from Dean because he was the only human you were ever focused on- oh no, no. Don’t try to deny it- But, cause of that I was always surprised when you asked for help, you know? Dean’s not big on that one. But you are and that’s great, alright? You’re doing pretty damn good, man. And second of all, you didn’t force Dean into anything. You asked and he agreed. He made a decision, a choice, alright? And… honestly, I think you need to understand; you’re allowed to want what you want, Cas. You want a big huge annoying wedding? Have it! Your desires shouldn’t always be second to everyone else's.” Sam waits for a response.

He gets another sigh. “The first time I had a… meltdown, I would say? Dean suggested I talked to you. He said that you understood emotions better than he did because you, unlike him, didn’t bury them deep down. Dean’s been trying to be better at expressing himself; for me, for himself, just like I am. But he didn’t want me to learn from him because he knows he needs to learn himself.” Cas says softly. “And you make me feel comfortable… and you’re my best friend,” Cas adds after a pause, “That’s why I come to you for help.”

“I’m glad that I could help,” Sam replies, his voice thick with emotion.

There’s a pause and then, “I did actually need your help with the napkins though. I’m standing outside the shop. The woman at the counter showed me twenty-seven different shades of the same damn color. It was infuriating.” Cas says frustrated.

Sam laughs at that, “Where’s Dean?” He can imagine his brother getting annoyed at just the prospect of it all.

“He took four hours to select the tablecloth cause it was not the exact shade of ‘Eggshell’ that I’d told him I preferred while looking at the catalogs once,” Cas says with fond exasperation and a smile audible in his voice. "It'd be a... lengthier disaster if I brought him. He's back at home."

And Sam feels like he’s been hit a truck. Guess even after all these years, there are things about his brother he really doesn’t know. Huh. “He wants to marry you, Cas. No one who spends four hours trying to find the exact color you said you liked unless they want to marry you.”

Sam’s not there but he thinks he knows Cas enough to know the smile on his face right now is priceless, “I guess you’re right,” he replies softly.

Sam smiles too. “Send me pictures of the options, I’ll ask Eileen too.”

“Thank you, Sammy.”

“Don’t mention it, Cas.”


	6. Misty Mountain Hop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR USE OF HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE, USE OF SLUR AND INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA

The thing about the good times, Dean thinks is that they cannot last forever. The inherent meaning of having, of experiencing ‘good times’ means that they _have_ to be temporary. Because the only thing that solidifies something as a good (or bad) time is the ending of it. So, when Dean realizes, he’s having a good time, there is a part of him; the part that has been trained since he was four years old and watched his house burn down– engulfed in flames taking his mother and father (even if only in essence) all at once– that something might just go horribly wrong.

He expects it, and he had been for a long time. This job, this life, doesn’t afford him the luxury of _not_ having a chip on his shoulder, of _not_ waiting for the other shoe to drop, of _not_ losing whatever semblance of a good life he is able to muster up for himself at that point in time.

And the funny thing is Dean realizes, this brimming feeling inside him that kept nagging him on and on, that he was going to lose it all, that he didn’t deserve this good an ending was so fucking constant that it had become an innate part of him. So much so that now he could– after months and months of holding onto Cas a bit too tight during the night– just simply shelve it. He’s not sure he’d go as far as to say he could ignore it, no. But he could shelve it high enough that it wouldn’t impact the pure bliss of the aforementioned ‘good times’. Because at the end of the day, isn’t that the whole point of the good times? To be lived through with such vigor that the rest of your life becomes… ‘other times’ or ‘bad times’ or something in the middle.

So, after months and months of expecting all hell to break loose and come crashing down on his perfect little domesticated life– being lived out in an ancient bunker meant for hunting and torturing monsters by a group of ~~borderline xenophobic~~ white men– he never expected it to happen… like this.

The moment Dean hears the line go dead and he pockets the phone– unthinking and automatic– is the moment that Cas walks into the garage. Dean feels the dread shake through his body like lightning crinkling through his veins.

“Are you finally conceding that that might have been too much for you to carry alone?” Cas asks pointing at the three bags of groceries that rests in the trunk of the Impala. There is a smile in his voice. “Or are you still unwilling to admit that your chivalry was nothing but thinly veiled attempts at posturing?”

Dean has his back to Cas, but he knows Cas has his hands on his waist. There’s an exasperated look on his face that Dean loves to provoke because it has absolutely no heat but always leads to so much _heat._ Dean suddenly feels his breath catch. Dean _knows_ Cas.

“Dean?” Cas asks. His voice sounds closer now. Dean’s hands, however, are gripping onto the edge of the trunk so hard he’s sure either the metal will give out of his hands will. Any other day, Dean would quip about how all the posturing is all for Cas’s sake. Cause Cas is the one who drools over Dean’s arms like he wants to somehow eat and be smothered by them all at once. But this is not any other day, is it? This isn’t a ‘good time’.

“Dean?” Cas asks again, far gentler now, much closer too. “Is everything alright?”

Dean wants to reply, he does. He has spent the last year, since Cas’s return, trying to be better at this. Not for Cas, but because of him ~~and also for himself~~. He’s tried and successfully verbalized some of his fears. He still remembers the night when instead of walking off from their bed when woken up by a horrible, gut-wrenching nightmare from hell (literally), he stayed in Cas’s arms. He remembers letting Cas hold him. He remembers breaking down, sobbing hopelessly and Cas understanding it all, without so much as a word being spoken. He remembers the next day when he woke up rested and feeling much lighter, only to be greeted with a red-eyed ex-angel who looked back at Dean with such devotion that he swore he could feel the Earth stop on its damn axis. He remembers asking Cas what was wrong, being worried and scared and terrified only to be answered with a wet chuckle and a soft _“Thank you for letting me in.”_

That was the morning Dean realized that while he had to change, and grow and work on himself; none of it had to be so fucking hard. It could just be simple, not easy… not hard either though. And none of it had to ever be done alone.

So yeah, Dean wants to absolutely fucking scream, “ _No! NO! I am not alright. This world, the one we fought for, dragged our asses through the literal hell for, isn’t fucking worth it. The people we fucking DIED to protect are all fucking assholes.”_

But he can’t. He just fucking _cannot._ He can feel the air in the garage. He can _feel_ it thick and sticky and palpable with fear and hate and _doubt._ And he wishes more than anything that he couldn’t. He feels so aware of everything around him but at the same time, he feels like the Earth is still spinning but just forgot to bring him along for the ride so he’s just left behind, abandoned.

“My love?” Cas’s voice is an utterly beautiful, broken thing. And Dean hates it. He loves it so fucking much, the endearment cuts so fucking deep, makes his heart leap so fucking high that he fucking _hates_ it. He downright resents it.

 _“How can you call me that? How can you look at me and see anything but filth, man? Because I am, right? No wait… we are, right? Us, together? This is fucking_ filthy _, Cas. You should know that better than me, shouldn’t you?”_ Dean wants to say but he can’t. _“If this was okay if this was alright and y’know, dandy, we’d know. Wouldn’t we? The universe wouldn’t have been trying to kill each other every other time if this were fucking peachy, would it?”_

He can’t say that because maybe… maybe there’s a part of him that thinks that something that feels so fucking right cannot be wrong. Just _cannot._

But… Dean pauses. But he remembers having The Mark. He remembers how there was a part of him thinking about how _good_ it felt to hold The First Blade and just… let lose. He remembers being in hell, instead of being the one on the pike, he remembers being the one holding the whip and how there was a part of him thinking about how _good_ that felt too. He remembers that brief time when he was a vamp too, how there was a part of him thinking about the idea of Lisa’s blood running down his throat would feel _good_ too. So maybe, Dean doesn’t get to have the best fucking judgment. So maybe, what the fuck does a small part of Dean know? That small part of Dean sounds like a fucking freak.

But maybe, Dean thinks, it might not just be a small part.

And with that thought, Dean does what he does best. “What?” Dean snaps, finally turning to look at Cas.

Cas’s hands which were making their way onto Dean’s shoulders retreat with a flinch.

“You’ve been standing here for a while. Do you need some help?” Cas asks calmly, recomposing himself.

“No. What I need, is some peace and quiet,” Dean bites back for no reason other than the fact that he is searching for some release. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Of course not, I was just– “

“Pestering me… as always.”

“Worried. Just worried about you, Dean.”

“Well quit it, alright?”

“I think we’ve established that’s not happening anytime soon.”

“Quit being a fucking smartass while you’re at too, alright?”

Cas sighs. Dean realizes it’s to gather up his patience. And the thought makes him resentful. However, he is unsure whether the resentment is aimed at Cas or himself. He’s more unsure of why it would be aimed at either of them.

“I am just trying to understand what happened–“

“Nothing happened, goddamn it! Can’t I just get a fucking minute without you fucking clinging onto me for dear life?” Dean is just being hurtful for the sake of being hurtful at this point.

But unlike Dean, Cas isn’t a broken self-hating repressed little bitch boy with daddy issues, so he asks, “I’m only asking because everything seemed alright when I left a couple of minutes ago.” Cas moves forward just a bit. He reaches out slowly, “I don’t like seeing you this way. I’m only asking if you’re alright, my love… You seem–” _broken, beaten, damned,_ “– distraught?” Cas puts an awfully gentle hand on Dean’s arm.

And Dean fucking burns.

He rips his arm back and then, _“Distraught?”_ Dean wants to throw back at him with a snicker, “ _You’re a fucking a fag, Cas! I am not distraught, I am disgusted.”_

But as he watches Cas’s face contort from concern to sorrow, he realizes, he might have actually said that out loud.

Cas’s looks so fucking hurt, _so fucking heartbroken_.

Dean wishes he had never been pulled out of hell in the first place. He thinks at this moment, maybe he would have deserved that.

Dean can hear the echo of the words. He can fucking smell them. And they reek. They reek like the bodies they find of victims brutalized, abused, and dead, kept out on the crime scene as props for investigations, being boiled under the heat of the summer sun. He wants to throw up. But he thinks if he tries, all that will come out is disgusting black fucking goo. Because that’s what he is inside… _disgusting._

So, he decides to do what he does best. He shuts the trunk, gets in the car and he drives off.

Dean _runs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies. You saw the angst tag and you came anyway.


	7. No Quarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day? Wow.  
> But on a serious note, I am swamped at work. And even this I'm writing while procrastinating other things so, I'm sorry for the slow updates. Hope you still like these though.

Dean can hear his phone ringing.

He ignores it.

He presses on the gas pedal a little harder.

The ringing dies.

Only for a moment, and then it rings again.

He presses on the pedal harder still.

The ringing dies again.

But the respite is painfully brief. It rings again.

He pulls it out of his pocket where he stashed it­­ _—_ unthinking and automatic _—_ _o_ nly to hang up and throw it across the passenger seat which is painfully empty.

This time, it doesn’t ring again.

Until it does.

It catches Dean off guard because last time it rang Dean was still in Lawrence, and that feels like hours ago. Maybe because it was hours ago. Dean realizes he has been driving for so long with nothing but the thoughts inside his head that he hadn’t even noticed that the sun had set. Where is he? He doesn’t really know. He can only see an unending stretch of road with nothing but fields surrounding him. But he sure as shit ain’t in Lawrence anymore.

Dean finally looks down at his phone, afraid and ashamed.

But it’s not until he reads the name that flashes that he realizes that he has royally fucked up. He has royally, unmistakably fucked up because it’s not Cas’s name that pops up on the screen. It’s Sam’s.

Cas gave up?

With a shaking hand, Dean picks up the phone and brings it to his ear.

“Dean? Man! What the hell? Where are you?” Sam sounds so jovial. And Dean can’t help but still. Why is Sam _jovial_? “You wanted to avoid cooking something vegetarian so bad that you just bailed on dinner?”

Oh. Yeah. They had plans for dinner. Dean was going to make tacos. But Sam and Eileen were trying to eat healthier which was a stark contrast to everything Dean believed in but he loved Eileen well enough to surrender. But their pantry at home wasn’t prepared for vegetarian tacos. Hence the groceries.

The thought stops him cold.

“Needed to clear my mind,” Dean replies monotonously.

Sam pauses. Dean can almost read Sam’s mind. He is trying to decipher what would be the best approach to take with Dean right now. He is wondering if he should probe Dean, interrogate him for answers or just allow him space to be… Dean.

“Did something happen?” Sam asks cautiously. Now Dean’s trying to decipher what approach Sam’s chosen.

“No,” Dean replies curtly. The answer sounding like a blatant lie, even to himself. “Why? What did Cas tell you?” Dean adds hesitantly.

There is another pregnant pause.

But when it is broken Dean can feel the pain of it down to his bones.

“Cas isn’t with you?” Sam asks.

Dean can’t even fathom how to answer that question.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, helpless. “Why the fuck would he be with me?”

“Cause that’s what you guys do?” Sam asks, rhetorically. “You guys drive when either of you has an off day, right? So, I thought—”

“He isn’t with me, Sam. I don’t know where he—”

“Hold on, I think I just got a text from him.”

Dean cannot fucking breathe.

The silence is harrowing. Even though it only lasts for a few seconds, to Dean it feels like an eternity and a half.

“Dean?” Sam asks, finally breaking the mortifying silence that was about to swallow Dean whole. “What happened?”

“Noth—”

“What happened?” The question is asked with firm resolve and something else that Dean doesn’t quite understand.

Dean falters. He grips onto the wheel a little tighter. “What did he say?”

“He said he was sorry for bailing. And then he asked if I could pick up some of his stuff for him if I’m already here, at the bunker.”

Dean presses the breaks so fucking hard he can smell the tires burning as the car comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” He balks.

“What happened?” Sam asks again. His tone is so cold. “I won’t ask again.”

Dean finally realizes what that something else was. He, of all people, should’ve read it far quicker. It was protective righteous fury. It was strange and incomprehensible to Dean because he had never been on the receiving end of it _from Sam_.

“I screwed things up. Like I always do.” Dean wants to cry. He wants to cry and never stop crying.

But more than anything he wants Cas.

“Come back,” Sam orders. It’s not a suggestion or a request. It’s a command. “Come back and then we’ll talk.”

“Why?” Dean asks, incredulous. “It’s not like we can fix this. Cause we can’t Sammy. I— I can’t fix this…”

“Maybe not,” Sam’s words manage to slap Dean right across the face, “But I made you a promise a few months ago, do you remember?”

Dean wants to laugh because right now, he isn’t sure he remembers what it feels like to be alive let alone a conversation that happened months ago.

At Dean’s lack of response, Sam answers his own question, “I can’t punch you if you’re not here, Dean. Come back.”

And with that, he hangs up.

Dean, the broken shell of a man that he is, turns the car around and begins driving back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context, the promise that Sam is referring to is present in earlier work in the series.   
> Sam (in Chapter 10 of Over the Hills and Very Close By) tells Dean that if he ever hurts Cas, Sam's gonna punch him in the face.


	8. Gallow's Pole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: USE OF HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE, USE OF SLURS, INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA, AND MENTIONS OF TRAUMA.

The first thing that greets Dean when he enters the library is a fucking punch in the face.

Well, at least he raised Sammy to be a man of his word, eh?

He stumbles and falls flat on his ass, on the hardwood floor with a hand cradling his nose—which he is pretty damn sure is broken—as it slowly bleeds down onto his shirt. Guess he raised Sammy to have a terrifying right hook too. What a treat!

“Motherfucker!” That’s the only thing Dean can bring himself to say.

Sam extends his hand, offering Dean support. Offering Dean assistance. Offering Dean, a literal helping hand, so he doesn’t have to do this all alone. Dean looks up at his younger brother, who doesn’t seem younger at all, right now. He is towering over Dean and his face unyielding and set with anger. But there, under all of that anger is a hint of the ocean of compassion and unending worry. He suddenly remembers looking into the mirror all those years ago, when he found out about Sam’s guilty pleasure of feasting on Demon Blood. He realizes at this moment; he too wore the same expression once.

He’s seen Sam wear it before as well when he returned with a fucking ragged and red Mark on his forearm, fated to be the killer John Eric Winchester had raised him to be. Sam seemed disappointed then, as he does now. And Dean fucking hates it. Dean hates himself. He hates what he did and what he said, and what he is and what he can’t be. He hates that this is his fucking destiny; being a shitty, broken man.

“Come on, get up,” Sam urges breaking Dean out of his reverie. His tone is straightforward and simple. _You’ve fallen,_ it says, _you’ve fallen but you can get up, come on! I’ll help._

So, he does. He takes the hand and lets his brother help him up.

Sam turns around, picks up an ice pack, and throws it at Dean. Dean catches it dutifully and places it on his nose. “You’re a real fucking boy scout, aren’t ya?” Dean tries to lighten the mood with a joke because that’s what you do when the going gets rough, right? Tragedy makes for good comedy; isn't that what they say?

Sam just glares at him.

Dean suddenly remembers tragedy _plus time_ makes for good comedy.

“What happened?” Sam asks calmly, as he pulls a chair and sits down.

Dean mirrors the motions and sits opposite Sam. He removes the ice pack, checks to make sure the bleeding has stopped. Once his nose is as fixed up as it's going to get, he breathes heavily. He’s stalling, he knows. But he’s ashamed; so fucking ashamed and so fucking scared. This is Sammy; Sammy who's always looked up to Dean. Even though Dean was a shitty, broken man, Sam admired him all the same. Will he admire him still?

“Dean?” Sam is losing patience. Dean feels like perhaps this is what it would’ve felt like getting in trouble at school and being sent to the principal’s office if he actually cared about getting an education. His hands are shaking and his throat’s gone dry. He feels like the world is collapsing around him slowly, but surely.

“What do you know, so far?” Dean asks, words laced with guilt and worry.

“Doesn’t matter what I know. I asked _you_. Are you gonna tell me?” Sam sounds more like a disappointed parent than an annoyed principal though.

Dean coughs, clears his throat. “Do I have to?”

“If you want to fix this… Do you? Want to fix this?”

Dean’s jaw hits the floor, “ _Obviously I want to fix this,_ Sam! _”_ He shouts. “I don’t think it can be, but fuck yea! I _want_ to. Of course, I want to.”

“Then… what happened?”

“I fucked up.”

“I know. Not what I asked.”

Dean shudders under Sam’s cold stare and colder tone. He inhales deeply and exhales slowly. He balls up his hands into fists, digs his fingernails into his palms, and then with all the courage he can muster up, “Pastor Jim called.”

Sam’s face softens. Maybe, Dean thinks, maybe Sam already figured it out.

“He—He just got the invite in the mail and… I saw his name pop on the screen, and I was scared. Of course, I was scared, the man’s a fucking Pastor for fuck’s sake. But you know? He was a good enough guy. He took care of us and gave a place when Dad fucked off to wherever the fuck he wanted to, so I thought I’d like him at the wedding.” Dean breathes audibly, “Surprisingly though, he said he was happy to hear that I was settling down. He said he was fucking ecstatic that I was able to get out of this life alive, with someone I loved, with someone who loved me.”

Dean has to pause. He doesn’t like talking, it makes him vulnerable and if there is one thing he was always taught not to be, it's being fucking vulnerable. But he knows that’s because he can still hear this angry voice inside his head, telling him being vulnerable is the same as being weak, and being weak gets everyone you love killed. And he knows without a shadow of a doubt that that voice belongs to man long dead, who liked to pretend to be Dean’s dad.

“He sa—said he was sorry but he couldn’t attend the wedding. Not because he didn't approve or anything. But cause it was a Sunday and he was needed at the church. But he was glad that I had the courage to go after what I wanted, _now that Dad wasn’t around anymore_.”

Sam’s face looks conflicted. Dean gets it. He was conflicted too.

“Wait so, he basically said—” Sam is cut off.

“That our Dad was raging homophobe but that’s not new is it?” Dean retorts with a snort.

“Then what is?” Sam asks politely.

“There’s— I think— I… I—I think I repressed it, along with my—my feelings, my sexuality. Cause when I asked him what he meant, he said that he was sorry that he couldn’t protect me. He said he wanted to but he couldn’t and that it was his biggest regret.”

“Dean, what are you—”

“You remember how Dad kinda upped his douchebag game after that Shtriga thing happened, and you almost got hurt?”

Sam just nods.

“Yeah, I always thought that’s what pissed him off, you know? That, me slipping on my job to protect you was the catalyst to him becoming Major General Asshole. But um—after… After Jim started talking about how _he_ was sorry and how _he_ should’ve protected me… I think it triggered something…”

Dean’s knuckles are white. He is craving a stiff drink of whatever the fuck can make him forget what he finally remembers. But he knows the more he relies on something else to help him keep going, the more likely he is to lose Cas, to lose himself. So, he soldiers on. For Cas, but also for himself.

“I think—No. I know. The week before the Shtriga thing, when we were at Jim’s place, Dad caught me with a boy. We weren’t—weren’t doing anything, but I think he could see it.” Dean laughs, a hollow broken laugh. “I’ve always had this voice in my head, telling me that—that loving Cas was wrong… that feeling that way about another man was so fucking wrong. I always knew it was Dad. I knew it was his voice… Because it sure as shit wasn’t mine… But I never—never knew it actually _was_ Dad. I thought I’d made it up. But I get it now, why it was always so clear, why it always ended with the same words. _‘How is this okay with you? Doesn’t it make your skin crawl? It’s fucking unnatural, and you know it. My son’s a fucking fag, Jim! I’m not upset, I’m disgusted.’_ They weren’t made up. They were never made up. They were just buried deep down in my screwed-up little head, so I could carry on worshipping that man like he hung the goddamn moon. Cause otherwise—otherwise, I’d be an orphan… An orphan with a kid brother to raise and no one to fucking raise me.”

Dean finally realizes that he is sobbing.

He looks at Sam where he sits across from him and there is nothing but sorrow on his face. He remains silent, giving Dean the time and luxury to compose himself. Sam knows Dean better than anyone, maybe not through and through but definitely knows him best; so, Sam knows Dean needs this moment and he’s very willing to give it.

When Dean’s sobs die down, Sam sits up, leans in, and looks Dean dead in the eyes.

“We never had a Dad, Dean. Well, you didn’t, I did. I had you.” Sam says calmly as if he’s stating simple facts and not ripping Dean in half with softness and kindness that Dean feels too unworthy to accept. “I think Dad never made it out of the damn house that night. I think he burned with Mom. But unlike me, you knew him before that. You knew him when he wasn’t John Winchester, Major General Asshole; you knew him as Dad. So, when you lost it all you wanted something familiar to hold onto. That’s not a crime, Dean. You were a kid, raising a kid. You wanted to be normal but couldn’t, so you settled for whatever you had. And that’s okay, dude. More than okay… But, now…” Sam exhales.

Dean watches Sam shift, reshape his thoughts before he begins again, “John was a fucking asshole.” Dean is taken aback, hearing Sam swear is such a rare sight, that too with so much hatred laced with every word, Dean can’t stomach it that easily. “But you are not him. You are a good man, who was never driven by revenge and vengeance to hunt. You used to hunt because you wanted to save people, help them. John was just plain fucking angry. But again, you are not him. And that’s exactly why you cannot continue letting that dead asshole define your life, control it. Trauma is generational. It can be passed down and more often than not, it is. But the thing about the cycle of trauma is that, at some point, it becomes your responsibility to break it. Or at least that’s what I believe.”

Break the cycle of trauma. Can Dean break it? He’s over 40. He’s died more times than he remembers and hasn’t got very long to live if his son keeps popping up behind him without warning. Isn’t it too late?

“It's not too late. It’s never too late,” Sam insists and Dean thinks maybe he said that aloud as well. But he didn’t, Sam just knows him that well, “You have to break it, Dean. I know you can. You have been doing pretty great, you know that. This—this was just a step back. You can recover. The question is, do you want to?” There’s a challenge in Sam’s voice.

“How do you recover from calling your fiancé a ‘fag’ and telling him he’s disgusting?” Dean’s so fucking angry with himself, it is beginning to physically hurt.

For a second, Sam looks like he wants to punch Dean again, but then he recomposes himself and says, “The ‘how’ of it all comes later. Right now, the question is; Do you want to?”

Dean remembers the feeling in his chest when he watched Cas rebel against heaven, against everything he knew and worshiped since the dawn of time. ‘ _We’re making it up as we go’_ Cas had said. He had fought against his conditioning that had begun with Creation itself. The least Dean can do is try to fight a dead man for him. Dean's never believed in following destiny anyway. He doesn't want to be a shitty, broken man. He wants to be a married, happy man. So he will be.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware Pastor Jim is dead... but like, my story, my rules? I thought it made more sense for it to be him. So I'm just gonna ignore canon (again).


	9. In My Time of Dying

The phone rings for an ungodly amount of time before it connects.

“Hey… I didn’t think you would pick up.” Worried.

“I will always, _always,_ pick up your call.” Determined.

“I just—I don’t know. I was worried.” Hesitant.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Guilty.

“It’s not trouble, asshole! I was just scared okay? We’ve been looking for you for weeks. Weeks! And you just went off the grid and at first, I thought you’d call, you know? You usually call all the time. But you didn’t and I get it, you needed space. But… I just… I was scared, okay? I was scared you weren’t okay… Are you? Are you okay, Aziraphale?” Claire asks cautiously. She knows she sounds like a child who can’t find her parent anywhere in aisle seven of the damn grocery store. But that’s exactly how she feels and right now she doesn’t have the courage to put up the façade to pretend otherwise.

She hears Cas take a deep breath, “Yes… and no. Physically I am alright, Claire. But otherwise… I’m not sure.” He pauses, “I’m sorry for not calling. I didn’t think you’d be worried.”

And what the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” She asks, affronted.

“That sounded like an accusation, that’s not how I meant it. I just meant… I—I just,” He adds hastily, “I thought… Actually, I wasn’t thinking, honestly. I didn’t even think the news would reach you,” Cas confesses, his voice small and lost.

“Dean called me right after he called Jodie…” Claire replies. She still isn’t clear on what happened and worries that mentioning Dean might upset Cas again but she doesn’t see any other option. “We tried calling Jack too. But he said if you needed time, then you needed time. He said he wouldn’t interfere. Goody two-shoes,” She mutters with annoyance.

She isn’t actually mad at the kid. He wasn’t wrong. Intruding on Cas’s privacy like that would have been awful and wrong but she was worried. She was terrified. She felt like she was about to lose another parent. And before she can deal with that (absolutely not new) revelation, her thoughts are interrupted.

“Claire.” He sounds like he’s trying to be reprimanding like he usually is but there’s a smile in his voice and that gives Claire hope. Hope that she thought she’d lost when she heard that Cas left.

“What?” Claire defends. “He’s got all this power in the world and he can’t tell us where you are? _‘I’m in every drop of rain’_ my ass!” She mimics Jack far too accurately for it to be anything but hilarious, she knows that. Now that she’s gotten a smile out of the ex-angel, she doesn’t want to lose it.

She can hear him trying to snuff a laugh and then, “Claire,” he chides again.

She smiles too.

He says after a pause, “I thought you hate my constant texts and calls.” She doesn’t respond for a moment. Because as much as wants to be offended, she has no right. That’s what she tells him, time after time. What if he really thinks so? What if in her attempt to protect herself, she’s been making him believe that he is nothing but an annoyance to her? But completely unaware of her inner dialogue Cas panics. He begins, “Claire—”

She cuts him off, “I know I say that I don’t like you, and I know I am a bitch sometimes. I say mean shit and I bitch and moan about every single thing you do for me; I know that I’m a bit of a mess to handle. I know you’re always just trying to prove to me that you’re going to be there. I know that alright? I just have a hard time telling you that I appreciate it.” She exhales heavily, “I looked at you and saw my Dad. You wear his face, it’s kinda hard not to… I used to hate you for it but then—but then you were nice and not an asshole with an oak tree shoved up where the sun don’t shine… It just… It’s just hard to, I don’t know reconcile those two things, you know? So, I bitch and moan and make a fuss… Doesn’t mean I hate that you call or text all the time… It—It’s nice. Knowing that you’re there, is nice.”

Once she hears a sniffle from across the line, she realizes she’s crying too.

“You are absolutely not a bitch," He says with a determination that calls for no disagreement. He pauses and then adds, "I—I don’t do those things to prove to you that I will stay… I _will_ stay, that will be proof enough. Those things; they are selfish. I text and call and give you presents you don’t like because _I_ want to,” Cas says easily and Claire can hear the affection over the poor connection of the call so clearly, it scares her a bit. She sometimes wonders how her Dad would have talked to her now, but then she hears Cas say such things and think she might never have to wonder at all. And again she doesn't want to deal with this (absolutely not new) revelation, so she focuses on his words, “But I know it’s hard for you, and I’d never hold that against you, never. You know that, right?” Cas sounds scared.

Why the fuck is he scared?

“Yeah, obviously,” Claire states.

She hears a sigh of relief. Again, why the fuck is he scared?

“I don’t want to give the impression that however you’re choosing to cope with me being a part of your life is unfair, because it really isn’t,”

Oh, he’s not scared. He’s worried, about her… as always.

“Where are you, Aziraphale?” Claire is worried too.

“In a motel, somewhere in Iowa… I’m alright.”

“If you were alright, you’d be here…”

“I suppose that’s correct.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Looking for a job, actually…”

“Why?” Claire shouts. A job means permanence, a job means stability, a job means he doesn’t intend on coming back.

“I’m running out of money to live at the motel,” Cas replies distantly.

“Then come back home,” Claire pleads, angry.

“I—I’m not sure I’m welcome home… I'm not even sure I have one,” Cas sounds so fucking lost that Claire considers just running over to wherever he is and hugging him. Her angsty adult routine be damned.

“You’ll always have a home here—And I don’t just mean Dean… You have us. All of us. Come back. Stay here, with me and Kaia, please?” She knows she’s begging but she can’t let him just leave. Not like this.

“Are you sure?” Cas counters, hesitant.

“Of course, I’m sure!” Claire balks, “I’m offering, aren’t I? Just come to Sioux Falls, stay with us… we can only offer you the couch though—”

“That’s more than enough, Claire. More than I can ask for,”

“Well, you ain’t asking, so shut up. And come back.”

And with that, she hangs up.

A day later, Cas shows up at her door looking far worse for wear than she could've ever imagined and her heart breaks even more. She pulls him in for a hug that lasts longer than the normal ones and maybe even lets a few tears escape.

Cas takes a shower and Kaia cooks dinner while Claire fidgets, trying to make sure everything’s okay for Cas. He eats with a big smile on his face and looks only a little better afterward. She lets him sleep on the couch and lets Kaia hold her tighter as they sleep that night. She’s still worried.

A couple of days later after continuing the same routine, she walks into the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn and is greeted with the sight of Cas making coffee. She knows she has to finally address the elephant in their very small apartment.

She jumps up and sits on the counter next to where Cas is pouring the coffee. He wordlessly hands it over to her. Always her first. She takes it and watches as he brews himself another cup.

“I know you want to call him,” Claire almost spits out the coffee from her mouth. After a pause, Cas adds, “It’s okay if you already have.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Claire defends. “You want time and space, I’m not gonna ruin that for anyone. Not even for Dean.”

Cas smiles, “I appreciate it very much, thank you, Claire.” He pours a cup of coffee for himself and finally faces her. “But you want to.” It's not a question, but an assessment. Cas can read her now, how terrifying is that?

Claire fold onto herself, “I—I just want you guys to fix it, okay? I know, I know it must be very bad if _you_ decided to leave like that. And I’m not trying to ask you to forget that. I’m just—I just… It’s just that in this life, it’s very rare to find someone who loves you as much as you two love each other. And maybe Dean fucked up, maybe it’s beyond repair, but I wish you guys would talk, just once. He sounds just as broken as you, you know? And—I—I just want you both to be happy.” She exhales slowly, “I don’t… I don’t want you to talk to him if you don’t want to talk to him but if there’s a part of you that thinks it can be fixed, I’m asking very, very selfishly if you could try?”

Cas is silent for a moment. And then, “You can call him.”

“Really?” Claire sounds surprised and ecstatic. Cas on the other hand just looks disquiet, and just nods in response, before walking off.

The next day a 67’ Chevy Impala rolls in front of her.

Dean gets out of the car, rushes over to where Claire is leaning on her own Chevy Camaro, and begins looking around hopelessly for an ex-angel who isn’t there. So she says as much.

“He’s not here.”

Dean falters, “Oh… I thought—”

“He’s back at home, cooking spaghetti I think…” Claire is trying to not let her anger shine through. Dean might have hurt Cas but he’s still Dean. “There’s probably going to be enough for four.”

Dean seems to relax at those words. “I—”

Claire cuts him off, “I don’t know what happened, but I need you to understand, I cannot let you hurt him again. I can’t. I care about you, just as much as him. I do. But the only reason he agreed to meet you today was probably for me. He’d do anything for me and I keep making him do whatever I want, as selfishly as possible. And right now, my selfish ass needs you to _fix_ this, because I need to believe that people like us, people like you and me—the absolutely fucked up ones—can still have a happy ending. So, please, I’m begging here, don’t hurt him.”

“You’re not fucked up, Claire,” Dean says with utter determination. “You’ve lost a lot and been told that you can’t be fixed because the world is fucked-up, _not you_.”

Claire levels him with a cold look, “Hm, are you fucked up?”

Dean’s determination breaks, “I’m different. I’m—”

“Lost a parent at a young age? Check. The other one became an absentee parent cause they couldn't cope with the trauma and died as well? Check. Anger management issues? Check. Abandonment issues? Check. Wanting to be a hunter to fix some aspect of this fucked up world? Check. Suck at school? Check. Abuse like a sailor? Check. Oh and queer as fuck? Check.” Claire states calmly.

“When you put it that way… But you’re better at this, kid… I—I fucking hurt the love of my life because I’m shit at being... you know? Cause apparently, my absentee asshole father thought it was disgusting. So, yeah you’re better.” Dean looks like he about to cry. He looks just as awful as Cas does and currently, he cannot bring himself to look at Claire in the eyes. His head is hanging low and she can feel the shame and anger radiate off of him.

“You can’t be shit at being queer, Dean…” Claire says confounded, “It’s who you are, how the fuck can you be shit at being yourself?”

Dean looks up at that. “I called him disgusting, for being…”

“Queer?” Claire completes.

Dean just nods.

“Why?” She asks softly. She knows the last thing Dean would want to do is hurt Cas. So whatever the reason is, it's big.

“I…” Dean runs a hand through his hair, breathes in deeply, and looks as if he decides to finally spill, “I got a call from an old friend of John’s. He was congratulating me about the wedding and telling me how proud he was of me for being able to do this, _despite_ my father… Long story short, basically he kinda triggered this memory of John calling me disgusting for being the way that I am.”

“Homophobic little shit,” Claire mutters, “All offense intended.”

Dean just shrugs.

“Doesn’t say anything about you, you know that, right?” Claire asks, worried.

“What John said to me or what I said to Cas?” Dean asks.

“Yes.”

“What?” Dean asks confused.

“Whatever John believed about you speaks to what kind of an asshole he was. Not you. Our parents don’t define who we are, Dean. We do. And as for what you said to Cas, that doesn’t define you either… not completely. Not yet. You can fix it.” Claire replies.

Dean is silent for a moment, “What if I’m never comfortable with… with being… being—”

“Then you might lose Cas… You might never be able to come to terms with yourself… You might never get to be truly happy.” Dean looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He looks beyond broken. She sympathizes, she does but she needs him to know the truth. So, she adds, “But that’s never been the Dean Winchester I knew. The Dean Winchester I knew faced apocalypses like they were dares given at a party, he fought harder and louder than anyone else and never gave up. He saw what destiny had planned for him, decided he didn’t like it, and told destiny to fuck off. The Dean Winchester I knew was annoying, loud, brash, and kind of an ass but he was never, _never_ a coward.”

Dean lets a tear slip, he rushes to wipe it away before he says, “You really think I can fix this?”

Claire just shrugs.

“But—But I—” Dean stutters.

“Hurt Cas?” Claire asks.

Dean nods.

“With your words?”

Dean nods again.

“Then you’re shit at communicating Dean, not being queer.”


	10. Nobody's Fault but Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is awfully late but I'm actually pretty damn swamped at work. And I don't know I couldn't write this well enough for me to be satisfied. This is my seventh draft and I still think it could be better. But hey, let me know what you think? I'd love to hear your opinions as usual. It'll help me gauge if I'm overthinking or fairly assessing my work. Thanks a bunch, hope you like it.

Silence.

Deafening, earth-shattering, seemingly unending silence.

“I'm trying here, alright? You gotta say something, buddy,” Dean whispers, hoping it isn’t the wrong thing to say. He is walking on eggshells. Eggshells that he laid down himself but eggshells nonetheless. And by the way that Cas’s jaw clenches by just a fraction, it's proof that he has in fact said the wrong thing. “Sweetheart?” Dean urges.

“It can’t be both, Dean,” Cas replies from the passenger seat of the Impala, next to him.

“What?” Dean asks confused. His eyes are flickering between the road ahead of him and Cas’s profile. His perfect, beautiful profile, that makes Dean want to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness till the world stops turning or till Cas forgives him, whichever comes first.

“It can’t be both.” Cas doesn’t sound even remotely angry. He just sounds fucking tired. “Either I’m your buddy or your sweetheart... I don’t think I can be both.” Dean had made the most patient man slash ex-angel tired. Someone should hand him a trophy, call it the Asshole of the Year award. “I don’t think I want to be both…”

“I don—I don’t understand—”

“I don’t suppose you will.”

Dean knows he shouldn’t, somewhere deep down. He is aware that how he is about to react is not how he wishes to, but sometimes knowing and wishing doesn’t translate to doing, so he says, “Why? Cause I’m some pig-headed high-school dropout?” He especially doesn’t want to add, “Too dumb for Castiel, the _Angel of the Lord_ then?”

Silence.

Deafening, earth-shattering, seemingly unending silence. 

Dean wants to apologize. He is aware he should. He is considering it; he is about to open his mouth but he is cut off.

“Why are you here, Dean?” Cas asks, resigned.

“Why am I here?” Dean balks.

“Yes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean’s still balking.

“Exactly what it means.”

“Why the fuck do you think I’m here?” Dean really isn’t done with the balking.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know that?”

Silence.

Deafening, earth-shattering, seemingly unending silence.

Making Castiel, the former angel of the lord, swear in anger is like watching a (previously inactive) volcano explode. It’s unexpected and makes you regret all your life decisions that led up to that moment, wishing and hoping that you’d done something different so you wouldn’t have been there to experience it.

“I came here to apologize,” Dean replies softly.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks. He still hasn’t looked at Dean in the eyes, not even once. Dean is caught somewhere between choking on his words and driving the car into a tree. The tension feels palpable; in his shaking hands and trembling feet. He’s drowning in it. Is Cas too?

“I don’t—I… What?” Dean stutters.

“Are you sure that’s what you’re here for?”

“What else would I be here for?”

“To end it.”

Dean pushes the break so hard he’s sure he’s left skid marks on the street. Cas braces himself with a hand on the dashboard but doesn’t react otherwise, almost as if expecting Dean to be this dramatic. But Dean can’t quite help it.

“Why would I want to end it?” Dean asks confounded.

Cas just shrugs in response but won’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“Cas?” Dean urges.

Cas turns away and looks out the window.

“Sweetheart?” Dean says much softer this time, “Do you want to? End it?”

At this Cas turns back to look at Dean. And now Cas is the one balking, “Why would I ever want to end it?”

“You left… I thought—”

“YOU DIDN’T WANT ME THERE!” Cas is screaming. His Cas is screaming, shouting, at the top of his lungs. Dean takes a moment to comprehend that (orgasm-inducing) voice can be that loud (and hot).

“What the fuck?” Dean defends, “ _You_ left!” Dean jabs a finger at his (most probably, ex) finance.

“Because you called me a slur and said that I disgusted you!”

And there it is. Again.

Silence.

Deafening, earth-shattering, seemingly unending silence.

Dean wants to fall onto his knees, he wants to beg and cry and plead; he wants to do anything and everything he can to make sure that Cas believes him when he says that none of the shit that he said had anything to do with him. He needs Cas to know that, that isn’t the way he looks at him. He could never think of Cas like that. It couldn’t be. This is Cas. Not some junkless angel of the lord, no. It’s Castiel, _his Castiel._ Cas, who burnt so bright that the sun looked far duller by comparison. Cas, who loved without bounds and had compassion in overabundance. Cas, who was fury and righteousness incarnate when needed. Cas, who believed in Dean endlessly without reason even when Dean didn’t give him a good enough reason to do so. To Dean, Castiel is more than salvation or religion or love, or anything so big that words can’t do justice. To Dean, Castiel has always been something rare and unattainable but unreliably close, just over the hills and very close by. He was the wind in Dean’s hair while driving with the windows down. He was the stars he gazed upon with Sam as they sat on the hood of the Impala. He was the right song on the radio at the right time. He was Dean’s home. He seemed unreal to Dean, sometimes in the mornings, lying there next to him; Cas seemed unreal. He was good, kind, compassionate, patient, and somehow without any grace left in him, still fucking ethereal. Dean couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that there could ever be a being with so much fucking good in them but there he was, mumbling sweet nothings into Dean’s shoulder to avoid getting out of bed. To Dean, Castiel was far more important than salvation or religion or love, he was home. 

So, Dean tries, “I didn’t mean those things… Of course, I didn’t… Cas—You gotta know—You gotta understand”

“I understand, Dean,” Cas saves him, _again_. He sighs and Dean can see the anger leaving his body. “I don’t always know what goes on in your head, but I always understand you… Or at least I like to think I do.”

“You do, sweetheart,” Dean’s voice is just a whisper, “You’re probably the only one who does.”

“I am trying too, Dean… But you’re making it way too hard.”

“I don’t mean to… it just happens,” Dean defends.

“How does it _just_ happen? I don’t get it—”

“That’s the thing, Cas! You don’t get it,” he says with the harshness he doesn’t wish to possess but he can’t help it, “You don’t get how fucking difficult this is, alright? You never had to come out! You just knew, no one told you that this shit was wrong, you weren’t fucking human to have to deal with having to push this shit as deep it could fucking go because otherwise, your dad would beat the crap out of you. So yeah Cas, course you don’t get this shit!”

“If I don’t get any of this, it is because you don’t care to explain it to me. But have you considered that maybe it's worse because I don't get any of this and it just feels unfair all the same?” Cas says slowly and Dean remembers a moment from years ago, ‘ _You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell, I can throw you back in.’_ He is seething with anger, “Yes, I fail to grasp all these human emotions because I haven’t experienced them, but I do understand how it feels when you reject me. When you avoid holding my hand in bars or when you flirt with the waitress at the diner or introduce me as anything but your partner—”

“Cas—”

“I also try, as best as I possibly can, to understand that none of it is easy for you, so I never bring it up. I hate doing so right now, but I have to.” Cas sighs. “I have to because you feeling ashamed of me is making me feel ashamed of myself. And there—there’s only so much of that I can take… At first, when I fell in love with you, I never—never imagined you could—would feel the same way… I resigned myself to be a friend to you… to be useful to you. But even then, I kept failing you time and again, I was useless more often than not—”

“No, Cas—”

“But then I told you how I felt and you told me you felt the same way and I—I used to stay up all night, for the first couple of weeks. I used to stay up all night, lying there with you in my arms, just looking at you. Because I couldn’t believe I could have you—have you at all, let alone like that. I thought that was all I could ever want. But maybe… maybe being human and having these new feelings and emotions is something I wasn’t fully prepared for… Because now I want more. I want to be yours, fully and completely. And I want the same from you,” Cas sniffles, and Dean finally looks back at him and realizes, the man that he loves more than anything in the world has been softly crying the entire time.

Dean wishes he could drown in the guilt he feels pushing down on him. He never knew Cas was hurting all this time. He didn’t even realize it. He thought he was not like that younger, more brash Dean, but some things can’t be unlearnt unless actively working on them. Some old habits do die painfully hard and require a fuck tonne of effort. Dean needs to put in that effort. Not just for Cas’s sake, but also for his sake, so he can at least look himself in the mirror and not see John Winchester instead.

Dean turns and pushes himself closer to Cas. He reaches out, tentatively gauging Cas’s reaction to being touched. When he sees Cas isn’t trying to beat the shit out of him, he lets his hand rest softly on Cas’s cheek. He wipes the tears away and runs a gentle hand through his (somehow still immaculate) sex hair.

“I wa—was like, ten or twelve… and Da—John had left us at his friend’s place, Pastor Jim. When he came back, he found me with a boy and he figured it out. I was so fucking young I didn’t understand what the fuck I’d done wrong cause Sammy was safe and I was just—just… Anyway, the shit I said to you… those were the words he said to Pastor Jim about me… So, when he called that day to congratulate me for the wedding of all things, all this shit came flooding back, and I just—I exploded on you. That wasn’t fair. I'm sorry. I am so fucking sorry, Cas. I really am. That was awful and wrong but it had nothing and I mean it when I say this, _it had nothing to do with you."_

Dean really needs Cas to get this so he looks him dead in the eyes as he continues, “I can never be ashamed of you. I might be ashamed of myself… of the way I am… but never will I ever be ashamed of you. You are a fucking treasure, Cas. I love you so damn much. Every single time I lost you, I lost myself. Without you, I drowned myself in booze and blood and hoped to God, either I got you back to just didn’t make it back from whichever stupid hunt I went on. You’re the love of my life and I cannot believe I was lucky enough to have you love me back and stupid enough to be a fucking asshole and hurt you.

“You’re my sunshine, sunshine. You know that, don’t you? You have to know that… plea—please. Okay? You don’t want to take me back that’s fine. It’ll probably kill me, but I’ll take it. Fuck me! I deserve it. But I _need_ you to know that you’re the fucking sun. You’re fucking untouchable, Cas. You’re a goddamn wonder. Don’t let a repressed high-school dropout make you believe otherwise…” Dean is crying too now. He is terrified, his hands are shaking and his vision is blurry but he’s too afraid to move, because the moment he does, he loses Cas. He wants to hold on just a few seconds longer. It’s selfish, he knows. But he’s only human.

Cas takes his hand that’s resting on Cas’s cheek and pulls it away and Dean can hear his heartbreak.

 _It was nice while it lasted,_ he thinks to himself. He closes his eyes. All of this is far too painful to watch, even though he knows that he deserves it.

But all of a sudden, he feels a kiss on the palm of his hand, his eyes shoot open.

“See? I’m not untouchable. And perhaps, you are a repressed high-school dropout but you are my repressed high-school dropout…” Cas gives a small smile.

Dean lets out a short-wet chuckle.

“But seriously Dean… I just—I think I’d like for us to talk about this more.”

“You want to talk?” Dean cannot contain the joy that blossoms inside of him. “I mean, yeah. We’ll talk. We will I promise… But you want to?”

Cas’s small smile grown a little, “Yes.”

“So, you’re not leaving me?”

Cas reaches over and wipes away Dean’s tears, “You have me—as Sam likes to call it—whipped.”

Dean laughs but then suddenly his smile falls, “Do you—I mean… D—Do you—uh—well… Do you still want t—to get—”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean balks again.

Cas shrugs. And finally, it hits Dean. Dean might be the King of the kingdom called self-loathing, but he does not rule alone. Cas, as always, is right there with him.

“Marry me, angel?” Dean asks softly. “Will you? In front of all our friends and family, with a big ceremony with all the flowers and table cloths in the world. Will you?”

“It can be just us, Dean—”

“If I’m marrying the most devastatingly handsome man ever, I gotta have me a big fucking shindig, Cas… But that’s only if the most devastatingly handsome man says yes…”

Cas leans in and kisses Dean so fucking soft and sweet, Dean thinks all those times he was in heaven didn’t do the idea of serene happiness any fucking justice. They move in closer, as close as possible and it’s still not enough. It's been weeks since either of them held the other and their hunger seeps into every single lick and bite of the other's lips. They're going hard and hungry but the need is still based on a softness neither of them can voice. But right now, they are pretty fucking needy. They’re grasping at each other for dear life. Dean climbs onto Cas’s lap, straddling him. Cas lets out a deep guttural moan as Dean begins moving his hips seeking friction and at that Dean has to pull back.

“What?” Cas asks a little annoyed.

Dean chuckles, “Was that a yes?”

Cas pulls Dean back in by his hair, resting Dean's forehead on his, and slowly licks Dean’s lips while his hand grabs at Dean’s ass. Dean’s pants are so constricting at this point that he forgets why he stopped in the first place, until Cas whispers, low and sultry, “That’s a ‘fuck yes’.”

**Author's Note:**

> I always love hearing from you guys, please feel free to leave comments and let me know what you think.


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